


And the Stars Will Not Answer

by definitionangel



Series: Of Starlight and Clouds [3]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 05:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19761346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/definitionangel/pseuds/definitionangel
Summary: He's seen this place before, maybe. It feels like somewhere he should remember, but he doesn't. It doesn't matter to Doyoung, it doesn't feel as if his heart is beating anymore anyways.Under the silk, there is a life that Taeyong does not remember being there.





	And the Stars Will Not Answer

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, before you read this, some housekeeping.  
> What time is it? If it's anywhere between 1:30 am and 3 am please go to sleep, this story can wait a little longer. Did you eat breakfast, lunch and dinner today? If you haven't, at least go drink water if you aren't hungry. 
> 
> Let me clarify a bit. None of this happens in a dreamscape.  
> Shall we begin?

Doyoung walks among the streets alone tonight. There is no one, and it feels almost unsettling, because he knows the eyes of the undead are on him tonight. They’re staring as if he’s going to leave them. He isn’t sure why though, but maybe it’s because he’s turning twenty one in human years very soon.

Twenty one is an interesting age, for all beings, be they magical or non magical.

The glowing eyes of the ghouls and ghosts determined to eat his soul seem to vanish, warping into the comfort of glowing christmas ornament orbs, each one slightly different from the next. There are a few of them that are huge. There are a few of them that are tiny.

The pulse of these stars is comforting tonight, they whisper of home and warmth in the blackened place he walks that is the night sky. When Doyoung reaches out, he can touch them, can bring the glowing balls of warmth closer to him, or extinguish a light in a snap of his fingers. He won’t do that, because each star is lit in remembrance for the missing and those long gone from the mortal plane. This is what his mother had always told him as a child, and he would honor her memory by not disturbing the shimmering orbs. He does not want to disturb any of the souls resting in the sky either, he is content with being able to walk among them and pray that their loved ones have moved on well. One of the millions of glowing spheres is lit in memory of his mother’s soul, he is sure. The stars do not discriminate. 

His chest feels empty, feels like the echoing of a longing sound through a cave, with nothing to answer it but itself.

Doyoung remembers this dream. It’s a dream, it always is, it has to be. No way in reality can he manipulate the stars to do his bidding, no where else can he feel as home as here, walking between the fields of glimmering light.

Far in front of him, there will stand a lone figure facing away from him. The lone figure will be wearing clothes not unlike the clouds floating underneath the light sky. When he walks closer, the figure always turns around but the face is someone he can recognize but doesn’t know. His mother had always told him, to never get close to this person, because she said, even in a dream sequence, he could be hurt. Doyoung doesn’t know how though, because it’s never happened, and the figure always disappears like mist if he gets too close.

He wonders, why they are up here, the two of them, if they are both nothing but spirits who have been freed from the glowing gems of light. If he listens closely however, he will know they are not alone, there is always whispering voices, not of the spirits but of others that reside in the sky.

He wonders who they are, and what they are, and why the whispers seem so discontent with their presence in the sky.

The clouds will roll underneath them to block the stars and their resting souls from the brutality of the human world. The clouds also come to hide them, both him and the figure from the bloodshed, not allowing them to see the dances of life and death that accompany the clangs and explosions that can be heard, even amongst the resting stars.

None of this happens tonight. When the figure turns around tonight, Doyoung recognizes the sharp jawline. He recognizes the shape of the eyes and the way the eyebrows are set.

Taeyong’s hair is white and his eyes are silver. There’s no slit in his brow and he’s wearing clothing that Doyoung will describe as a halter top dress in the color of stormy clouds, but oh, there goes his breath. Even now, in a dream, Taeyong is unfairly attractive and maybe Doyoung resents it, maybe he doesn’t. Taeyong looks nice in the constant light of the stars, and Doyoung lets his feet take him to the other.

He doesn’t vanish like mist this time, he doesn’t disappear as the stars of the nighttime sky do as the sun rises fully into the and brings the world into bustle and day. With each pulse of the stars, Doyoung can feel his heart squeeze tighter in his chest, as his steps near the ethereal figure.

“Catch me, if you can, Doie!” Taeyong laughs, and dashes away swifter than Doyoung knew vampires could run. This should have been a warning sign. Only his mother has ever called him Doie, but he doesn’t listen anyways.

Doyoung does give chase, the two of them zipping through the stars, careful not to knock them out of their places. As Doyoung runs, he can feel the fabric of his dress grow heavier. The fabric already looks as if it’s been torn out of the night sky and it feels as if it’s trying to tell him to join his place in the stars already as a stationary, single star in the night sky amongst the millions of others. It’s telling him he’s done his job, and it’s time to go home.

He doesn’t want to go home, not yet.

Why is he calling the night sky home?

Around him, the stars are vanishing one by one, each one taking away the comfort of familiarity with them. Shivers crawl up his spine as slowly, he loses sight of Taeyong amongst the disappearing bulbs of light. Electricity crackles around him, frying his nerves so they no longer work properly but his heart races so quickly it feels as if it’s stopped beating at all.

“Your mother has hidden you well, this time, my child,” The voice that speaks sounds a little bit like a bug scuttling in the underbrush of a graveyard. It crawls over the walls, echoes in the room, “You are so silly. All I have to do is send that Taeyong to you and you fall for it. Every, single, lifetime, my misguided child. I’d have thought that you would stop falling for the nephelae after so long, but you do not-”

“And who are you to judge my choices, in my dream?” Doyoung cuts the voice off before he can allow it to unsettle him further. What does this have anything to do with multiple lifetimes? The distant roaring is getting louder. It sounds as if the ocean were in pain. He mocks the voice, “Who are you to decide who I fall in love with, Every, Single, Lifetime? What is so bad about Taeyong?”

“So you still think, this, this is a dream?” The voice laughs, rings over the crashing of ocean waves in the black nothingness. Doyoung cannot feel his heart beating in his chest anymore. There doesn’t seem to be anymore blood in his veins, if there is, it’s all become jello. “I brought you here. Your mother doesn’t know this but you, you and Taeyong both belong to me, and me only. You will both end up back here with me in the end, no matter how much they try to hide you."

“Yes, and the ocean is pulled by the sun. My mother is dead, you insane voice.” Doyoung is probably the one going insane. He feels like melting into a puddle on the floor, allowing his bones to be crushed by this ever increasing pressure. It feels as if he’s at the bottom of the sea, and not in the middle of the sky, but he supposes anything can happen inside a dream. It's probably a bad idea to smart talk a voice that seems to be draining the life from his body, but Doyoung will do it anyways, "You also sound delusional. You sound like a four year old upset when their parents don’t buy them a toy."

There are a few instants when the roaring quiets, and Doyoung can feel the beat of his heart in his wrists again, but those moments are few and far between. How long has he been here?

Why can't he wake up?

His fingers tap, three short taps, three longer ones, and another three short taps. SOS, the morse distress signal. There’s no one to answer it here, in the middle of nowhere, as even the voice seems to have spluttered into silence. Doyoung will count that as a win, thank you very much. 

Booming echoes through the empty space. It really does feel as if he’s standing on nothingness, and Doyoung is really, really counting on this to be a dream. It has to be. This cannot be a real place on earth.

“But you are not on earth anymore, child.” This voice is very annoying, and Doyoung’s very sure it’s face will be very grotesque as well. Doyoung does know dreams cannot just be made up, not according to the hard laws of science. So where does this blackened room come from, and why does he know of it?

But Doyoung also knows that in the realm of magic, one thing is as certain as the next, which means nothing is certain at all. For the first time, he entertains the thought that Taeil may be right, that he may actually have some goddamn magical blood stopped in his veins. 

The table in front of him is kind of blurry, a pretty ombre of colors floating on top of it, ranging from gold and silver to something like dark purple. It sloshes as the table sways, dangerously, and the liquid seems sparkly.

“Choose two, and choose wisely. One of them has your memories. One of them will send you out of here, for a little while. The others will make your soul so twisted and sick the stars won’t welcome you home. One of them, I have no idea what it does.”

There’s something on the back of his mind, something at the tip of his tongue. He can hear his mother chant, something about gold being fleeting and silver meaning wise. He has a feeling he’s failed this test many times before, has chosen the ones destroying his soul one too many times, and that’s why he’s here.

Maybe. Life is full of maybes.

“Choose, you foolish child, why aren’t you listening to me?” 

For the first time since he was at his mother’s funeral, he prays, but he doesn’t pray to the Christian angels or the Greek or Roman gods or of any of his ancestors. Tonight he prays to the keeper of the stars to guide him, and he has a feeling he will not be heard, not tonight.

He is sluggish to approach the table, doll hands creaking like his knuckles were rusty joints.

Black for mystery, gold for fleeting, silver for wise at the very left side of the table. This is the only thing he can think of now. The other colors he ignores, and he swipes the glasses with the gold and silver tinted liquids in them with a quick hand movement that sends a feeling like burning knives through his arm. It stabs at him, it pains him to hold onto these two liquids, pains him to touch the glass.

He hears a shriek that sounds vaguely like nails scraping across a chalkboard. Maybe, he doesn’t know. Things are starting to sound really muffled to him. It doesn’t bother him, not really. 

In his other hand, he holds the glass with the black liquid to his lips, tilts his head back and drinks.

* * *

Underneath the silken fabric hanging on the wall lays a dusty portrait. Unlike the others, this portrait almost seems dead, almost seems like a marble statue, with closed eyes and and almost dried skin with no warmth to it, but Taeyong runs his hands across the delicate cheekbone of the painting, the thin lips, able to know where it is even without removing the fabric, even if the head is slumped to the side, and has never moved. 

None of the others have ever seen the portrait underneath this fabric, not even Taeil, Yuta and Johnny who have been alive for longer than Taeyong has been stuck on the mortal plane of earth. Taeyong has not allowed anyone in the room while he meticulously touches up the paint himself, has not allowed them in the room when he simply lifts the fabric to stare. 

Taeyong clutches at his stomach, and slowly floats himself down to the ground. Slowly, he leaves the room, leaving the castle far behind to look for food.

After he leaves, the rest of the coven gather round the wall. All of their portraits seem to still. Johnny murmurs, “Supposedly if you say the real name of the portrait, they will wake and tell you secrets that the person of their likeness knows. Only Taeil and Yuta have ever tried it, but if you want to, we should do it while Taeyong is out.”

“Why?” Donghyuck asks, eyes shining with a new glee.

Taeil shakes his head softly, eyes glimmering, “In front of Taeyong, they are always quiet. And Taeyong has only allowed it once, in the two thousand years I have been in this coven.”

Chenle talks as if he was certain of the answer, certain that what they did would work, certain that the elders would tell the truth. He yells, “Park Jisung.”

Jisung’s portrait seizes, eyes opening wide and it’s mouth opens and closes a few times, kind of like a dying fish. It’s funny, but they’re on a mission today. The physical Jisung looks on curiously as Taeil approaches the portrait to ask, “Are you able to wake up and talk to the others?”

The portrait is slow in nodding. A voice, a voice exactly like the physical Jisung’s voice falls from the portrait’s mouth, in a way like a magical video. “You want to ask me about the portrait under the fabric? Or talk to him?”

There’s a chorus of yeses, and maybe they are eager to know what their leader has been hiding for more than two thousand years from the world.

“I’m sorry. Only Taeyong knows about the portrait. None of the rest of us have been able to meet him.”

As soon as Taeyong falls from Portrait Jisung's lips, the portrait of old Taeyong jerks, as if coming to life. It blinks a few times, eyelashes fluttering and echoing of the new Taeyong, the one that is constantly hungry. This however, is not the same Taeyong, they are sure, this is someone from long ago.

“What do you want,” The portrait rasps, and it sounds as if it hasn’t spoken or had to speak in a while, this is, undoubtedly true. “No, I know what you want. You want that portrait, the one that’s always covered. It’s the only thing you ever want.”

“We don’t need to know who it is, we just want to know why it’s always covered.” Donghyuck says, unrelenting and stubborn like all those in the coven. Everything happens for a reason, and they don’t know this reason.

“The magic is resting, no need to wake it for your curiosity,” Taeyong’s portrait rasps, fearful eyes darting around, as if to search for signs that the heavens and stars are coming to punish him

Yuta tilts his head in confusion, “You mean the portrait is asleep?” 

“Not exactly. In better terms, the portrait’s connection to it’s likeness is warped, and so it’s resting as it heals.” There are a few beat of silence, where nothing can be heard but the adrenaline pumping of not wanting to be caught.

“Who’s likeness is it?” Sicheng mumbles, in such a soft tone that it can just barely be heard over all the heartbeats.

Taeyong’s portrait never gets to answer, because the real Taeyong himself snarls, “No one currently on the mortal plane.”

His red eyes flash and the fabric tears itself into shreds, and underneath it, cracked and fading in and out, with something akin to flames eating away at the edges, but it still does not hide the perfectly alert picture of Kim Dongyoung, bright eyed, straight backed and indescribably beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. I think this piece is vague answers zero questions and should probably not be a standalone piece but I've done this for a reason. Feel free to leave complaints once more in the comments, honestly even complaints make my day. I love replying to bitter people complaining that say I've not written what they want me to write :). Yes, this is part of the Target series, yes this is still the same lifetime :3! If you have read this far, thank you for reading this and have a nice day! uwu ~Lia out!


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